Four Breakfasts with House
by Gertrude2034
Summary: A month of dates with House… all involving Saturday breakfasts. Unapologetically romantic holiday reading.
1. Breakfast 1: Breakfast in the morning

**A/N:** Some fluffy romance – just the thing for the holidays. This story is set in the summer, just to bring some warmth for you guys shivering away in the cold. Yes, the OC is Australian – how corny is that? But hey, they always say: write what you know. If only. He he he.

**Breakfast 1 – Breakfast in the morning**

**Saturday the first**

Pancakes and an extremely large coffee was what he needed, House decided. He'd woken up starving because food hadn't played much of a part in the previous evening: just work til late and a couple of scotches when he got home. But still, the case was solved, the patient on the improve and he'd slept well.

It was Saturday and he had the weekend off, but there was no way his kitchen could support pancakes. Possibly not even coffee, remembering how he'd had to scrape out the last bit of sugar from the jar during the week.

He could make a trip to the market for ingredients or visit to the local café.

Choice, what choice?

In an unexpectedly good mood, he hummed as he dressed and even though the café was only a couple of blocks away, headed off on his bike.

By the time House got to café, it was the late morning rush and the only places left were at the communal table. That was almost enough to make him leave and go elsewhere, but his leg was hurting and his stomach let out a loud growl of protest. Pancakes! Now!

There was plenty of room at the table, only one occupant in fact: an attractive woman sitting with a pot of tea and a plate of croissant crumbs. In her mid 30s with her mousy blonde hair pulled back in a casual pony tail and reading glasses on her nose, she was absorbed in the newspaper article she was reading. Despite the many available chairs, he sat down right next to her.

Emma looked up, aware of an invasion of her personal space, especially given the amount of spare seats at the table, but went back to her newspaper without really looking. She'd been saving the newspaper for Saturday breakfast ever since it had arrived in the mail a few days ago. Nothing was going to spoil this special treat.

House placed his order with the waitress and then turned to the table. Sections of a newspaper were spread out around the woman, so he grabbed the arts pages, unfolded them and settled down to read. _Way to keep on top of the _news, House thought, as he realised the first article was a feature about a movie that had been released two months ago.

Emma looked up over her glasses at the sound of the newspaper being shaken open. She took a better look at the guy who had had taken the seat next to her. He obviously walked with a cane, as it was now hanging off the table between them. He was scruffy, yet, she had to admit, quite attractive. But attractive or not, he had opened and was reading the arts section of _her_ newspaper, pages she hadn't even looked at yet.

She tried to make eye contact and find a way to politely indicate that the newspaper wasn't as communal as the table. Failing to catch his eye, she decided to let it go. It was only a newspaper after all and it wasn't like his reading it wouldn't remove the words from the pages.

But still, to be on the safe side, Emma surreptitiously gathered the remaining parts of the paper closer to her. She also couldn't resist another look at her table companion. He'd donned reading glasses similar to her own and there was no ring on his left hand. She'd put him about ten years older than her, somewhere between forty-five and fifty, and the biceps rounding out the sleeves of his t-shirt were yummy indeed. _Stop it_, she told herself, _perving at breakfast is wrong._ Although she wasn't quite sure why.

House peered sideways at his table companion. He realised she'd been checking him out, but had deliberately pretended not to notice.

He checked the date at the top of the page, the paper was two weeks old, but that still didn't excuse two-months-out-of-date news. Dumping the arts section with a dismissive grunt, he grabbed the general news pages from right next to Emma and started reading, finally realising the reason for the strange news coverage.

_Hmmm_, he thought, _this might be fun_.

After flicking through the first few pages, his breakfast arrived, so he folded the paper to the crossword page at the back and turned to the waitress as she put his plate down on the table.

"Could I borrow this? Thanks." Without waiting for a response, House reached over and grabbed a pen sticking out of the waitress's apron pocket.

The waitress looked taken aback, but then just shrugged and walked away.

House turned back to his breakfast and started filling in the first clue in the crossword.

Emma looked up again. He was doing her crossword! She had to say something now.

"Excuse me," she smiled politely at him, trying to catch his eye.

He looked up at her, raising an eyebrow in answer, putting the pen down and picking up the maple syrup bottle. Emma was momentarily startled by his piercing gaze. She'd always loved that look of one arched eyebrow.

"Um…" she stumbled, momentarily discomforted. She had to shake her head slightly to recover. "Sorry, but that's my paper. I don't mind if you read it, but please don't fill in the crossword – and…" her anxiety rose as she watched him pouring syrup while he looked at her, the sticky mess spilling over his plate and on to the table and – of course – the paper, "…please don't get syrup on it!"

House nonchalantly put down the syrup and picked up his fork, stuffing his mouth with pancakes. With his other hand he grabbed his napkin and very deliberately and exaggeratedly wiped the spilled syrup off the newspaper, folding it with overstated carefulness and placing it back where it had been.

Emma watched his movements and decided she'd never actually seen someone be so completely sarcastic without speaking before.

"So I'd guess," he said through a mouthful, "from the fact that you are possessive of a newspaper that features out-of-date movie reviews and a lead story about the prime minister's slavish adherence to US foreign policy, that you are an Aussie. Oh, and the accent too."

Emma was shocked and it showed clearly on her face. She'd been in the US for a month and no one ever guessed where she was from right away. They always, always guessed English first, especially since she'd lived in London for a while and had an English lilt to her accent. Her shock at his perceptiveness replaced the strong sense of irritation he had provoked.

House looked at her. He'd surprised and possibly annoyed her but he loved that he'd got a reaction. Also now that he could see her face properly he realised she was really quite pretty. The pancakes were good, but now breakfast was really looking promising.

"I give you an A plus," Emma said eventually getting over her shock. "No one ever guesses right first time. They normally go with English first."

"And don't you just love that." House knew only too well how much Australians hated to be mistaken as English, being that he often did it deliberately to annoy Chase.

She smiled again, he was … irritatingly charming. Probably worth meeting.

"I'm Emma, Australian as charged."

House had stuffed his face with another huge forkful of pancakes.

"Grruh," he mumbled in answer through his mouthful.

"Gary?" asked Emma. Occasionally she had trouble understanding American accents, especially if the person was speaking with a mouth full of food.

House swallowed. "Greg."

"Greg, right. Like the Brady Bunch." Emma cringed inwardly, not sure why she added that.

"Uh, r-i-i-ght," he said giving her a quizzical look. "I never had sex with Mom Brady, but yeah, Greg."

She laughed, thanking his quick wit for saving her embarrassment.

"So Emma-the-Australian, what are you doing in my neighbourhood?" House asked, turning his attention back to his pancakes.

"What, this particular street, or the country?" Emma poured the remains of her pot of tea into her cup.

"Surprise me."

"I was offered a job lecturing at Princeton, it was a good opportunity, and thought it might be fun to live in the US for a while. Been here about a month." Emma summarised. She took a sip of her tea. "And in terms of this neighbourhood, I live just down the road and round the corner a bit. So what about you – a local?" Emma enquired, interested in knowing more about her curious table companion. "Neighbourhood I mean," she clarified.

"So been here a month…" House ignored her question and put on his deductive tone, "…and still getting the newspaper sent over from home. Adjusting well to the ex-pat life then?"

Emma's smile froze while she decided how to respond to that. Actually, all morning she'd been feeling a little emotional. The package in the mail with her mother's careful handwriting had been both a blessing and a curse, relieving and sharpening her homesickness all at once. Until that morning, she had been planning on making a day of it: reading the paper over breakfast, then taking the bottle of wine her mum had sent to the park with a good book. She'd still packed the wine and a blanket, but hadn't made a final decision about her plans – wondering if her melancholy was better suited to a bath and soppy DVD on the couch.

"My mum…" she began, feeling a little defensive.

"Oh, no let me guess, this is fun," House was on the scent of a puzzle. "Your mom sent you a care package from home with the newspaper. But… she wouldn't just send a newspaper all this way. What other goodies did you get?" He continued eating his pancakes but was also closely watching her face. He could see she wasn't entirely comfortable with the conversation but she also wasn't telling him to fuck off, so that was a positive sign.

"Candy, chocolate biscuits – I mean cookies – wine, the usual." Despite her discomfort with the topic, Emma was happy to be talking to someone new, someone who didn't work at the university. She still wasn't sure about the tone of the conversation, but beggars couldn't be choosers, she decided.

House finished his breakfast. "So are you the type of person to gorge yourself on it all at once, or are you all restrained and able to make it last?"

Emma flushed a little, wondering if her answer would give too much away about herself.

"I got the package on Wednesday and I saved the newspaper for breakfast today," she admitted. "It just seemed like the right thing to do." She couldn't really explain why she'd waited to herself, let alone anyone else. But she certainly wasn't telling him about the entire packet of chocolate that didn't last even an hour after she'd opened the mail.

"Four days, huh? That's admirable restraint."

"What about you?" Emma asked, trying to return to her earlier question about him.

"Oh no, I'm a 'read the newspaper right away' kind of guy. Can't let the latest…" he glanced down at the paper and chose a headline at random, "…drought statistics get away from me."

Emma smiled, he was very amusing. She made a spontaneous decision. "How do you feel about Australian shiraz?"

"Is that a kind of marsupial?" he asked.

Emma's heart sank. She wasn't a wine snob, but there was no way she was sharing a fantastic bottle of wine from home with someone who didn't know plonk from Grange.

House watched her face fall and couldn't help himself from feeling a little stab of sympathy for her.

"It's ok, I do know what shiraz is. We call it syrah here. I even like it."

"Well, once you're finished your coffee, I was planning to go to the park with my bottle of wine. I'd be happy to share. And I might even let you help with the crossword."

"Can I do the sudoku?" he asked.

"Sure." Emma felt almost light-headed about how reckless she was being._Inviting a total stranger to join her for the afternoon_, she thought, _what would mum say_? But when she weighed it up against sitting in her lounge room alone and took another look at those blue eyes, she decided. _Bugger off, mum_.

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The afternoon passed quickly, lazily. Their conversation was easy and they'd even spent quite a bit of time in silence working on their separate puzzles.

They both now knew the basic statistics of each other, no real details, but had found each other's answers intriguing enough to keep talking. She knew a great deal about obscure pop culture and had a fondness popular music that he had adored making fun of. She'd asked him what he did for a living and following his answer asked him if he enjoyed it. He didn't think anyone had ever asked him that before and he wasn't entirely sure how to answer her. But he gave her points for asking – most people followed up with some ridiculous story or request to look at a rash.

A couple of times she'd asked for help with a crossword clue. He'd asked her to look at the sudoku, but she'd admitted she had 'no head for numbers'. That had caused a fuss when he'd wanted to know how she'd become a professor of business at Princeton when she couldn't count. She'd defended that her speciality was leadership and then they'd debated the maths skills of leaders in both the real and fictional world ranging from Shackleton to Spock.

Then his mobile had rung. He had to go into work. Emma just nodded understandingly, then boldly asked for his mobile phone. At first he didn't know why she would be asking for it, assuming she needed to make a call of her own. But then he watched as she programmed in "Emma the Australian" and her phone number. He smiled and gave her a wink as he walked away.

Emma hummed a tuneless song to herself as she folded the blanket and started for home. Perhaps this whole moving to New Jersey thing hadn't been a bad idea after all.


	2. Breakfast 2: Breakfast in the afternoon

**Saturday the seventh**

House woke late on Saturday morning, feeling reasonably fine. As fine as he normally would be after spending a night drinking and, he had to admit it, his body was pretty used to it by now. He looked over at Emma, still sleeping deeply, and figured she'd be out for at least a couple more hours. He got up and left the bedroom as quietly as possible and went to make coffee, mentally reviewing the night before.

During the week, he had overheard Chase talking about watching the Australian football league's grand final at a sports bar near the hospital. His thoughts had turned to the 'Emma the Australian' contact in his mobile phone.

He'd scanned past it a couple of times since their breakfast meeting, his finger hovering over the 'call' button, but hadn't yet come up with a convincing reason to actually speak to her. A night involving a connection to home sounded like it might be perfect, so although he never relished sharing his personal life with his subordinates, he'd quizzed Chase for more details.

He thought Emma had sounded happy to hear from him when he called and pleased that he asked her out on Friday night. He'd been deliberately mysterious about their destination, just promising her a night of 'unmissable entertainment', but given last weekend's discussion about her homesickness, he was pretty sure she'd be thrilled with the plans.

On Friday night he'd picked her up, and he'd certainly noticed her face fall when he directed her into a sports bar. Still, he had to give it to her, she had put on a brave face, smiling and saying she wasn't really into sports, but was sure it would be just fine.

Then she'd seen the decorations, flags, posters, the big screen showing the pre-match entertainment, and her jaw dropped. She turned to House and putting both hands on his shoulders kissed him briefly, full on the mouth.

"What was that for?" he'd asked her, genuinely surprised.

"For being so kind," she'd replied. House had to admit he'd got a little warm glow from her words. He couldn't remember the last time – if ever – someone had told him he was kind.

Chase and Cameron had turned up and introductions were made. House hadn't planned the evening as a foursome, but it kind of worked that way and wasn't too unpleasant. Emma and Chase got along famously, talking about all the Australian things they missed. Which left House talking to Cameron for a while: painful until House changed the subject to work, because Cameron kept trying persistently and unsubtly to ask a thousand questions about Emma – most of which he didn't know the answer to. Not that he was going to let Cameron in on that.

Then there were many more gin and tonics and much screaming at the football. At one point Emma and Chase had drunkenly tried to explain the rules but their explanation had done nothing to clarify the game.

In fact, House realised as he sat down on the couch with his coffee and grabbed a periodical to read, that although he knew who had won, he still wasn't exactly sure how.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you dead?" House prodded Emma's shoulder roughly. "Or did your visit to the land of Bombay Sapphire leave you brain damaged?"

Of course he knew she was fine, just sleeping, but it had been a while since he'd had to waken a sleeping woman in his bed and he wasn't quite sure of the correct etiquette.

"Come on, up and at 'em."

It was early afternoon and House had been reading for a few hours, content to leave Emma asleep. But when it got to after two, he decided it really was time for her to wake up. He grabbed a couple of apples and the journal he was reading and went into the bedroom, jumping under the covers next to her and propping himself up with pillows. When that didn't provoke a response, he went for the prodding.

Emma heard his voice and felt her shoulder being pushed. She had been dreaming bizarre dreams of being in the desert with her sister and finding the sand was melting. And she was so thirsty, and the sun was giving her a headache… Slowly her mind started separating the threads of dreams from reality and she stretched languidly, still not completely aware of her surroundings.

The crashing sound of House biting into his apple brought her swiftly to consciousness. She opened her eyes to find him sitting up next to her in the bed, smiling down at her as he chewed.

"Hi," she said sleepily. "That is the loudest apple in the world."

"I brought one for you too," House held up a second apple a little sheepishly. "Sorry, haven't got anything else that'd make a suitable breakfast." Then he grinned at her before taking another large, loud bite.

"Ouch." Emma screwed her eyes shut. The apple was loud, but her headache wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. But she needed to keep her eyes closed just to have a few moments to gather her thoughts.

She considered the facts at her disposal: not in her own bed, check. Most likely at his place, then, check. She had been _very_ drunk at the bar, check. They woke up in bed together, check. Had they had sex? Unknown, but from a mental check of the relevant body parts it didn't feel like it.

Emma opened her eyes a crack and lifted the bed covers slightly to see if she was wearing clothes. She let out a little sigh of relief on finding that she was still wearing her underwear, her t-shirt and her socks. She belatedly realised the underwire from her bra was digging uncomfortably into her ribs.

House watched her make the check and saw the look of relief flit across her face. Wait, relief? He had a moment of self-doubt. He had hoped there might be a little disappointment there as well.

"You don't have to worry," he said brashly. "I was a perfect gentleman. I didn't even peek when I took your jeans off."

Emma blushed a little, unable to help it. She was so relieved that she hadn't done the stupid drunken sex thing with him. If – no, wait,_when_ – she had sex with Greg House she wanted to remember it.

House saw the blush and smiled to himself. If she didn't care what he thought of her, she wouldn't be blushing.

"So I guess a thank you is in order," Emma admitted. "I hope I wasn't too embarrassing or difficult."

"Well, I did have to protect my innocence from your lusty, promiscuous ways, but by the third time I fought you off you got the message."

Emma felt her cheeks flush hotly. She didn't think anything like that had happened, but she wasn't entirely sure.

House smiled at her confusion. Unlike her, he completely recalled the night before – he'd been drunk too, but not nearly as drunk as she was. And he'd genuinely had fun, even with Chase and Cameron hanging around.

With the time difference from Australia, the live coverage of the game had finished in the early hours of the morning. Cameron and Chase had headed off and House had hailed a cab. He'd had to help Emma walk from the bar to the curb, not easy when he was pretty unsteady himself and had the cane to manage as well. When they got in the back of the taxi, she'd gone quiet and rested her head against his shoulder in a companionable, sleepy kind of way.

Apart from the fact that he didn't know where she lived, it had just seemed natural for both of them to get out at his place and she'd followed him to the door. With an arm around her and one hand on his cane for balance, they awkwardly made it into the apartment and up the corridor to the bedroom. She'd just sat on the edge of the bed meekly and sleepily, like a child waiting to be put to bed. So that's exactly what he'd done; taking off her shoes and jeans, putting a glass of water out for each of them and then collapsing into bed himself. They hadn't even so much as shared a good night kiss.

Emma's memories of the evening were patchy. She remembered meeting his friends – no wait, his employees, _oh dear_ – and drinking a lot of gin. She ran a hand over her hair in embarrassment, realising as she did so that it had turned into a bird's nest at some point in the night.

"Oh," she groaned, "I must look like a fright."

House nodded. "Don't smell too hot, either."

"Oh God, how embarrassing. I'm normally a lot classier than this," she said earnestly.

"Don't worry about it. I've seen worse and I've smelt worse." House looked at her and smiled. Despite the mussed hair, blotchy face, and alcoholic sweats, he still thought she looked pretty cute.

Emma's stomach gave a little lurch which at first she attributed to the hangover, but then she realised it was a response to his smile. They held eye contact for a little longer than they should have. Emma really, really wanted him to kiss her. But then she became conscious that they were in bed, and she knew exactly where she'd want that kiss to go. And _that_ wasn't going to happen while she looked and smelt terrible.

She broke the look, turning to get up.

"What I wouldn't give for Vegemite on toast with lots of butter," Emma muttered as she sat up gingerly.

"What on God's green earth is that?" House asked.

"The perfect cure for hangovers – lots of vitamin B. But you don't have it over here and I've run out of the stock I brought from home." She smiled ruefully. "Just have to wait for my next rescue package."

House mentally stored the knowledge away.

"Can I use your bathroom?" Emma asked. "I don't want to scare little old ladies on the street by trying to get to my place looking like this," she joked, deciding not to be concerned about walking around in her underwear.

"Go for it." House gestured with his head in the direction of the bathroom. "Towels are under the sink."

"Thanks."

House watched as she walked out of the bedroom, her tight, white, boy-leg cotton underwear clinging tightly to the curves of her hips.

_Down boy_, he muttered to himself.

----------------------------------------------------

Emma emerged from the bathroom a little while later, cleaner and feeling better, but she'd had to put her rumpled clothes from the night before back on. It had taken ages to hunt for a hairbrush but eventually she found one under the sink to tame her tangled locks, and had borrowed some toothpaste to rinse her mouth – she wasn't one of those women that could borrow toothbrushes. With no make-up remover on hand she'd had to work hard to remove the mascara raccoon rings and her face had a freshly scrubbed look.

She wandered out of the bathroom and through his apartment, looking at the books in the bookcases, checking out the art on the walls and the décor of the rooms. _Americans put so much stuff in their rooms_, she thought. _I'd get rid of half this if it was mine_. Then she wandered past the bookshelf in the corridor, running a finger along the spines of some familiar tomes. _But not the books, they can stay_, she thought.

_Oh_, she sighed a little as she moved from the corridor into the lounge and spied the piano,_ and that can stay too._ She checked out the baby grand – it was lovely.

House emerged from the kitchen, a coffee in his hand. He watched her move around the room, looking at his possessions. He suddenly felt a little exposed, wanted to pull her attention away from her close examination of his home.

He moved close to her and pushed the cup into her hands.

"Sorry, I hope you like it black," he said, a little embarrassed about the inadequacies of his kitchen. It normally didn't matter though, he thought defensively. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to find breakfast provisions for anyone other than himself. Wilson always brought his own.

"Black's fine." She smiled and took a sip. She looked up at him to say thanks for the drink and realised he was standing very close to her. Their eyes met.

House looked at her smiling up at him and thought how young she looked without make-up and with her hair hanging round her shoulders. Without thinking too much further about it, he lowered his head to hers, gently brushing her lips with his. His eyes didn't leave hers until her eyelids fluttered shut, and he gave himself over to the kiss.

Emma's head was still too bleary to think clearly, but she knew he was kissing her and it was nice and that was all that mattered for right now.

They moved to the couch, sitting down without breaking contact. House moved over her, pushing her into the couch, deepening the kiss and moving one hand to caress her hair.

Suddenly Emma pulled back.

"Wait, wait, wait!" she cried out.

House sat back, confused and uncertain. He'd been positive she was as into the kiss as he had been, but now he wasn't sure.

Emma sat up gingerly, holding her t-shirt away from her in one hand and the red coffee mug House had handed her in the other.

"The coffee…" she explained, nodding to the spreading brown stain.

"Oh shit, I forgot," House was half amused and half horrified. "Are you burnt?" He lifted her shirt and looked closely at the skin beneath.

Emma started laughing, a little self-conscious at her own clumsiness. She'd been so carried away with the kiss, she'd completely forgotten about the cup of hot coffee in her hand.

She brushed his concern away, standing up and placing the mug on the coffee table.

"I'm fine, honestly. It's just the universe's way of telling me I need to go home and nurse my hangover in private." Emma bustled around, collecting her purse and coat.

House fell back into the couch, an ambivalent feeling engulfing him. He'd have been happy for her to stay, but he wasn't going to beg her to not to go.

Emma stood next to the couch, looking down at him.

"Thanks. I…really had a nice night and I'm sorry that I haven't been great breakfast company today," Emma paused. "But I will make it up to you."

She leaned over him and gave him a quick peck on the lips, then turned to leave; closing the door quietly behind her.

"I bloody hope so," House muttered to the empty room.

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**A/N: **Christmas may be over but you can still leave reviews - and they're almost as good as presents (sometimes, better). Thanks!


	3. Breakfast 3: Breakfast at dawn

**Saturday the fourteenth**

Following her embarrassing drunken behaviour on their last date, Emma felt a responsibility to not only make it up to House, but to prove she was actually more than an alcoholic football fan. Although, he had seemed to appreciate that side of her, she thought, recalling their brief, coffee-stained kiss.

She invited him out that Friday night to see music at a blues club, having concluded from the musical instruments and decoration of his apartment that it would be a good bet.

When they walked into the club the dance floor in front of the band was full of people; behind the dance floor red-leather booths stepped back and up the room in cabaret style.

Emma looked at House and glanced down at his cane.

"Could we…could you…stand just for one song? Then we can sit down," Emma asked.

"I'm sure I can handle that," he replied.

They made their way toward the stage just as the band started a slow, rhythmic song. Emma found them a spot on the dance floor and stood in front of House, reaching behind her to grab his free hand. She stepped back into him, wrapping his arm around her waist, lacing her fingers with his. They swayed slowly in time to the music.

House had been impressed by the music when they walked in, but as soon as Emma pulled herself into him, he lost interest in it completely. He closed his eyes briefly to take in her smell, the light tickle of her hair just under his chin, the soft swell of her belly under his arm. Then he became intensely aware of her buttocks pressing back into his pelvis, swaying in time to the music. The slight friction of her jeans against his was enough to…

House cleared his throat and shook his head slightly as if to clear it. _I am not sixteen years old for God's sake!_ Surely he could dance with a woman for one song without getting a hard on. He became deeply interested in the guitarist's technique, trying desperately to distract himself.

The song ended and Emma turned around, still holding his hand.

"That was lovely, wasn't it?" she asked, smiling. "Shall we go find a booth and a drink?"

House nodded. "Lead the way, my good woman." He deliberately let her go first, holding onto her hand to keep her close in front of him. The distraction hadn't been that effective after all.

They found an empty booth about half-way back in the middle and grabbed a seat.

"These guys are pretty good," said House, impressed by the music. "How did you find out about them?"

"One of my students leant me their CD," Emma said. "We were talking about music one day and he thought I'd like them."

"Teacher's pet?" asked House, raising an eyebrow.

Emma blushed slightly. "I don't play favourites, that would be unethical," she said firmly. "Ethan is a nice guy who just happens to be very interested in my subject. His thesis topic is very similar to mine and he's just been asking me for some extra tutoring because he says he values my advice…" she trailed off, realising how it sounded.

"Oh, I can see detention coming on," House teased. He took a professorial tone: "I want you to write five hundred words on the topic, '_My teacher is a sex goddess_'…"

"Right," said Emma, determined to change the subject, but secretly pleased with the _sex goddess_ line, even if it was a joke. "Can I get you a drink? I think I owe you one," she said in reference to their previous outing.

"Yes, you can, but I think you owe me more like twelve."

Emma had the humility to look a little bashful. "None of that this weekend. I'm determined to prove to you that I am more than a footy hooligan."

"What by going without alcohol?"

"Well…I wouldn't go that far, but I will practice _responsible_drinking."

Emma got up and walked off to the bar.

House watched her walk up to the bar, smiling at the bartender to get his attention. She had a killer smile. He noticed another guy at the bar checking her out and felt a small rush that she was here with _him_.

Just as she finished paying for the drinks, a young guy walked up to her, touching her on the shoulder in greeting. She turned and smiled easily at him, reaching up to give him a quick peck on the cheek. They talked animatedly, gesturing toward the band. Then the guy appeared to point to a group sitting at a table right near the bar, looking as if he was asking her to join him. She smiled but shook her head, collecting a bottle of wine and two glasses from the bar as the guy moved to take her place and order drinks.

House watched as she made her way back to him, noting that the guy kept turning around to see where she was headed.

Emma reached the table and put the wine and glasses down.

"That's the first time that's ever happened since I've been over here!" Emma exclaimed happily. "I ran into someone I know!"

"Let me guess: Ethan," House muttered.

"Yeah," said Emma as she slid into the booth next to House, "he didn't tell me he'd be here, but I guess it makes sense because…"

Her words were cut off when House suddenly reached over and pulled her into him, kissing her firmly. It was a strange kiss, not unpleasant, but not particularly passionate or tender.

Their lips parted and Emma pulled back, uncertain.

"What was that about?" she asked.

"I was just really pleased you chose a merlot," House answered flippantly, gesturing to the wine.

He looked over and met Ethan's disappointed gaze across the other side of the venue. He gave himself a mental "_Score!_", and Ethan quickly looked away.

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It was after one when the band finished. Emma and House were walking back towards the car when they passed a cinema advertising a schedule of classic movies including _Breakfast at Tiffany's_. Emma stopped to stare at the poster.

"That's one of my favourite movies ever," she commented. "Audrey was just so beautiful and George Peppard was just so suave."

"Yeah, but why did she keep calling him 'Fred'?," House said. "And I didn't like the cat."

"Have you read the book?" Emma asked.

"No."

"Right," she said with a smug, intellectually superior tone.

"Hey, they're showing _Casablanca_ as well," House said, checking out the next row of posters. "I like that film. I can quote it – wanna hear?" House started pulling his Bogart face.

Emma was looking closely at the program. "Hey, it's a movie marathon –_Casablanca_'s on right now! And _Breakfast at Tiffany_'s is on right after."

House peered at the schedule. "We've missed the first bit of Casablanca, but the second half has all the best lines anyway. I'm up for it if you are?"

"I'm starting to learn that Friday nights with you pretty much mean me sleeping all day Saturday," Emma grinned. "Come on, let's go."

----------------------------------------------------------

After the movies, they walked out of the cinema, finding the temperature had dropped a few degrees from the previous balmy evening.

"I don't know about you," started House, "but…"

"Yes! I'm starving!" Emma read his mind.

House nodded enthusiastically. "I want a burger and fries. Nothing else will do," he said definitively.

"Oh! I found the best place the other day. This great diner, down near the cemetery. I got a burger and then went and sat under a tree next to this marvellous old grave."

"I know you've just moved here and everything, but we really must find you some more friends," House said, deadpan.

Emma gave him a playful punch on the arm.

"It's not like I prefer to hang out with dead people," she said defensively. "There's a lovely view there and it's nice and cool when it's hot."

House gave her a disbelieving look.

"I'll show you," Emma said, checking her watch. "The sun'll be up soon and we can get our burgers and eat them there. Are you up for a cemetery tour at dawn?" she challenged.

"As long as the sun is up by the time we get there, I'll do it," House replied. "I stole a body from there once for medical experimentation, and I'm vaguely anxious about ghostly retribution."

Emma looked at him with a mix of curiosity, horror and amusement. House stared at her wide-eyed and then gave a loud, dramatic evil laugh that made Emma jump and then giggle.

"Come on, let's get a cab."

--------------------------------------------------------------------

After purchasing take-away burgers, they walked across the road and up to the cemetery gate. They stopped short at the clearly closed gate and its large sign reading, "Cemetery visiting hours: 8am-5pm daily".

"Bugger, still a few hours til it's open," said Emma with a disappointed tone. "We'll have to come another time."

"Nah," said House, handing Emma the bag containing their burgers. "If they really meant it, they'd put a decent lock on the gate." He lifted his cane and gave the gate latch a decent shove. With only a small rusty complaint, it swung open slowly.

"Ah, you're not one for the rules then," she said.

"Not especially."

They walked a short way in and found a park bench with a view through the gravestones towards the rapidly lightening sky.

"I can't believe you don't have onions on your burger," House said.

"I can't believe that I can't get anyone here to understand why beetroot is an essential hamburger ingredient," Emma countered.

"_What?_ Beets on a burger?" House made a disgusted sound.

Emma just laughed and continued eating.

House swallowed the last of his burger and screwed up the wrapper noisily.

"Peter Andrews, fell asleep in Jesus," he intoned, reading from one of the headstones nearby. "I wonder how Jesus felt about that."

Emma almost choked on the last mouthful of her burger. "You really do say the most inappropriate things," she observed. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Only every day," muttered House, putting her burger wrapper with his and shoving them back into the bag.

Emma leant back on the bench, stretching her legs out in front of her. House did the same, stretching his arms out along the back of the bench. The sun was now over the horizon and it would soon be fully daylight.

"This has been a divine evening," she said, leaning her head back on House's arm and closing her eyes.

"And morning," House added. He looked at her, her eyes closed, a contended smile on her lips. He was overwhelmed by the need to taste that contentment.

Leaning over he touched his lips to hers. She wasn't expecting it, but it only took a moment before her mouth responded, moving against his. Then they were kissing deeply, hungrily, and she could feel his hand moving under her t-shirt to slide up her side with perfect pressure. She put her hand flat on his chest, feeling his heart, then moved up to his neck to caress the soft skin and sharp stubble.

House slid his hand under her t-shirt upwards, grazing the sensitive underside of her breast. Her quick intake of breath was all the encouragement he needed to go further, stroking an already erect nipple through the lace of her bra.

Emma sighed as House moved his lips away from her mouth to the side of her neck, kissing and nibbling the delicate skin, the sound of his breathing heavy in her ear. She moved her arm around his back, seeking the hem of his shirt, desperate to find some way to connect with his skin.

"What are you kids doing here?" The harsh voice of the cemetery caretaker shattered the early dawn silence.

They hastily broke apart, Emma quickly pulling her t-shirt straight. As they turned to face him, the caretaker looked taken aback. He'd been expecting to see teenagers and instead copped House and Emma's obviously over-twenty-one faces.

"You're…you're…" he stammered, unsettled but still angry, "not supposed to be here!"

House stood up, drawing up to his full height, using his most serious, aggressive voice.

"Excuse me sir, but my wife's grandmother passed away just yesterday and I was trying to comfort her after her loss. I would prefer you to stay out of our business."

Emma tried hard to keep a poker face as various emotions – shock, amusement, horror at being caught – fought for dominance.

The caretaker was obviously unconvinced, but also not prepared for a confrontation.

"Well, whatever, you still shouldn't be here."

House took a deep breath, obviously ready to move into round two, when Emma stood up and put a restraining hand on his arm.

"I'm feeling better, darling, let's just go," she improvised.

"Well," House blustered, putting an arm around her protectively, "only if you're sure."

Once they reached the cemetery gate, they dissolved in laughter.

"That was ridiculous," Emma said.

"Gives him a story to tell the missus when he gets home," House suggested.

"Yeah, I guess it does at that," Emma agreed. Then she yawned and suddenly felt the affects of being awake all night. She felt exhausted, and although their make-out session had certainly been going in the right direction, she didn't feel she had the energy to see it through properly.

"I'm sorry, but I think I'm going to have to call it a night."

"Or a day, if you prefer," House was disappointed, he knew right where he wanted the night to end and it wasn't there on the street.

"Can we do it again?" Emma asked, shyly. She wondered if he was thinking along similar lines.

"Love to," House said. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head up to meet his, kissing her gently.

Then he walked out into the street to try to find a cab.

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**A/N: I know this is very fluffy romance, but would love to hear from you if you're enjoying it. Am working on a much meatier, angsty medical drama that will be coming soon. Cheers. **


	4. Breakfast 4: Breakfast at lunchtime

**Saturday the twenty-first**

Emma was puffing hard as she rounded the corner to her apartment block. She'd tried a new route for her run and the hill had been harder than it looked.

As she approached her apartment building she saw House, lounging against the wall near the entrance, a large brown paper bag hanging from one hand.

"Hello," she said breathlessly when she reached him, pulling her iPod ear buds out as she spoke. She wondered whether or not to kiss him hello, but decided against it, sure her sweaty face wouldn't be quite what he was expecting.

"Hi," he greeted her with a raised eyebrow. "Why do I always seem to be around you when you smell bad?"

She knew him well enough now to let that slide and laughed a little.

"Would you like to come inside and wait while I shower? Did you want to grab lunch?"

House couldn't help the mischievous look that crossed his face as he imagined her in the shower.

"Lunch? Nah, it's still breakfast time as far as I'm concerned," he said and held up the paper bag.

Emma turned to the apartment building door and opened it, holding it open for him to follow her in. They reached her apartment door and, once inside, Emma dumped her keys and iPod and headed for the bathroom.

"I'll be quick," she yelled over her shoulder as she headed down the corridor. "Make yourself at home."

House headed for the kitchen, opening up the bag and pulling out two paper cups of coffee, bagels, sachets of cream cheese and a clumsily wrapped small gift. He opened cupboard doors and drawers, finding plates, knives and setting them out on the petite kitchen table. Then he went into the lounge for a proper look round.

Emma had showered and changed in to yoga pants and a tight, scoop-necked t-shirt in record time. She walked barefoot into the kitchen to find House learning against the kitchen counter going through a photo album.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked, archly.

"Who's this hot chick?" he asked.

Emma peered around his shoulder. "My sister. Hands off, she's married."

She looked around and saw breakfast set out on the table. She smiled, touched, imagining that this was the Greg House equivalent of boxed roses.

"Thanks for breakfast," she said, "even if it is one in the afternoon."

"You're welcome," he gave a slight bow. "Aren't you going to open your present?" He gestured to the little package on the table.

Emma gave a start – a gift was very unexpected.

"Oh, this is a surprise," she said.

"Wait til you open it," he said mysteriously.

Emma picked at the clumsy wrapping; it opened easily, having been held together with just a single piece of tape.

When Emma saw the unmistakable black, yellow and red of a small jar of Vegemite, she let out a little scream.

"Oh my God, I can't believe it! Where did you get it? How did you get it?"

"I had serious negotiations with Chase. It's from his own personal stash. I'm doing his clinic hours for a week." House actually had been pleased with the bargain, he was prepared to go up to two weeks, so Chase could really have pressed the advantage.

"So please explain why you Aussies treat this stuff like gold?" House asked. "It tastes disgusting."

"You tried it?" Emma then saw that the jar had been opened and when she took the lid off, there was clearly a finger-shaped dint in the top. "You idiot, you're not supposed to eat it straight from the jar like that! You've got to have it on toast!"

"Look, as far as I'm concerned that stuff is poisonous and I can hardly see how anything other than a charcoal stomach pump could mask that taste."

Emma began to giggle as House continued to rant.

"It's beyond me why…"

Emma reached up and put a finger against his mouth to silence him.

"When are you going to shut up and kiss me?" she asked.

House stared at her. He could barely be around her without thoughts of kissing – and more – being at the forefront of his mind. He didn't need a second invitation. Placing one hand on her jaw, he tilted her head up to meet him, kissing her softly.

Emma kissed him back, her eyes fluttering shut as she pressed a hand against his chest for balance.

Pulling away, she looked up at him, dreamily, her thoughts suddenly muddled.

"I was going to do something, but now I can't remember what it was…" Emma murmured.

"I hope it wasn't going to be smothering yourself in that black stuff," House replied, his hand still on her cheek, his thumb stroking her soft skin. "Because I am _not_ licking it off, no matter what you…"

"Toast!" she exclaimed, interrupting him.

House's comment had reminded her of his gift and she was determined to show him why she was so fond of it – show him what the gift meant to her. She broke free of his embrace and set about toasting the bagels he had brought, putting out butter and slicing cheese. House just watched her with a bemused expression as she bustled around the small kitchen.

After smearing an artery-hardening amount of butter and small dabs of black Vegemite on the bagels, she turned to him, holding out one half in offering.

"Go on, taste it."

House made a face. "Not likely."

"Oh, go on, be adventurous. It's just salty. Like if you'd kissed me before I'd had a shower."

"So you're trying to make it sound appealing by comparing the taste to sweat? Mm, yummy," House said sarcastically. He looked at her doubtfully, but took the proffered bagel from her hand. He gingerly took a small bite.

Emma munched into her bagel cheerfully, enjoying the shape taste of home. She watched House carefully for his reaction.

"I guess it's OK," House said eventually, taking another small bite.

"See? I told you it was great stuff." She gave him a wide grin, pleased that he'd warmed to something she liked so much.

"Lets go sit in the lounge, I'll make a fresh pot of coffee."

House nodded and went to sit down. The previously sunny and warm day had clouded over and threatened a summer storm. The room had dimmed to the point that Emma turned on the lights when she returned to the lounge with fresh mugs of coffee for them both.

She sat on the couch next him, tucking her legs underneath her.

"I love afternoons like this. It makes me want to snuggle up on the couch with a crappy movie and then take a nap."

"I guess we could do that," House hedged. He wouldn't mind napping – he'd just wanted to get tired first. Preferably by indulging in some specific physical activity with her.

"If we did, it would be third time I've slept with you," Emma flirted.

"Wouldn't it be the second?" House thought about it. "I can only remember once."

"There was after the football when I was too drunk to stand up – which, by the way I'd prefer you to forget about – and then after we saw the band last week."

House gave a grin as he remembered her sleep-tousled look in his bed the morning after their drunken evening in the sports bar. But he still didn't remember a second time in bed with her.

"Hang on," he said. "We saw movies after we saw the band and then we had breakfast in the cemetery. I haven't forgotten about your favourite non-living lunch companions yet."

"Yeah, yeah," Emma dismissed the comment about her familiarity with the cemetery. "But in the middle of the party scene in _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ I had to nudge you because you started snoring."

"But then I had to poke you awake just before the credits because you'd started to drool on my t-shirt," he countered.

"I did not!" Emma said defensively.

"You most certainly did. I can even show you the stain."

"Ugh, you mean you haven't washed it yet?" She pulled a face. "But, anyway it just goes to prove my point: we've slept together twice."

House looked at her doubtfully.

"I don't really think that counts. I mean, sleeping in a movie theatre is like sleeping on a plane, it's not sleeping _together_. Otherwise you could say that you'd slept with everyone else who was in the cinema too."

"But there was no one else in the cinema," she countered. "Only that pimply usher and that weird fat guy who kept looking at us, and they don't count."

"I'm sure their mothers love them. And that weird fat guy, he wasn't looking at us, he was looking at _you_. He probably hadn't seen a real live woman for months, let alone someone as knock-out as you."

Emma blushed a little, embarrassed but pleased by the compliment.

"You're making it sound like we were in a porn place, not a cinema," she accused, covering her embarrassment.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? That's what that place normally is. It only shows normal movies on weekends. During the week it's twenty-four-hour adult entertainment. That fat guy was probably still there from the previous session and was wondering why there weren't any hot lesbians needing their pool cleaned in Casablanca."

Emma studied his serious face, unsure if he was joking.

"Really?" she asked.

"Uh huh." House nodded seriously and then changed to shaking his head with a wicked smile.

"Is gullibility a national trait of Australians?" he asked.

"Oh, you, you…" Emma searched for an appropriate adjective and found herself lost for the right word.

Being careful to put her coffee down on the coffee table before making her move, she then leapt across the couch to tackle him physically for his teasing. She made as if she was going to strangle him, leaning in close with her hands stretched out. In a quick movement, House grabbed her wrists with one hand and put the other around her back, pulling her to him. Before she knew it, she was lying against him and he pulled her head up to his, pressing his mouth against her lips.

Emma kissed him back, allowing her tongue to taste the coffee, butter and salt that were still on his lips.

After a moment she pulled back, raising her head to look him in the eyes.

"I guess this is another way to spend the afternoon," she said a little breathlessly. "Or we could skip the movie and go straight to the napping."

"I'd just like to sleep with you _properly_," he emphasised. "And then maybe we can get up afterwards and have more breakfast."

"Or we could have breakfast tomorrow, in the morning. Maybe even in bed."

"You mean breakfast in bed in the morning? On a Sunday?" House said with mock horror. "Surely you can't be serious. I don't think it's ever been done before!"

"Shut up and kiss me or you won't get any pancakes." Emma tried to frown, but couldn't help the corner of her mouth curving up into a smile.

"Yes, ma'am," House saluted, before dropping his hand to pull her head towards him. He smiled at her. "Wouldn't want to jeopardise pancakes…"

THE END


End file.
